


Keeping Up Appearances

by Geenee27, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Five times when Phryne or Jack denied the truth. And one time Phryne was told the truth.From the prompt: "The truth can make lovers enemies, a lie can make enemies lovers."I hope I have done justice to your wonderful prompt, my dear friend @221aubrinaLast but not least, a big tackle hug for Firesign, without whose considerable efforts, we would not have this glorious yearly goodness, or sexy spread sheets. Thank you for the bottom of my heart.





	Keeping Up Appearances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221A_brina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221A_brina/gifts).



“Miss Fisher, I appreciate your curiosity for crime...,”

Senior Detective Inspector John 'Jack' Robinson grimaced at the memory of that remark he made, in the Andrews bathroom, in what seemed like a lifetime ago but was in fact only a few days. He sat back in his worn leather armchair, whiskey in hand, mesmerized by the fire dancing in the grate.

What had possessed him to say such a thing, especially now that he knew the 'lady detective' a little better. He didn't 'appreciate' it at all. Or was charmed by it. Or amused. Or... or... anything pleasing at all.

That interfering dilettante had disturbed his crime scene, purloined evidence, hired a main suspect, dallied with another. Had twisted his constable in knots, trying to pry privileged investigation information from him.

She had also invaded his place of work, dragging those red raggers in with her – ex-wharfies who had given him no end of grief over the years, from drunk and disorderly to work stoppages on the dock. Then had the gall to rail against the laws he was supposed to uphold, blatantly proclaiming she would 'work around', ie break them, to suit her purposes.

And to top it all off, instead of bringing her suspicions about the actual culprit to the police, she broke into a Turkish bathhouse to confront the murderous cocaine smugglers. Miss Fisher was ultimately captured, tying up most of the resources of the City South Police Station to facilitate her rescue; and not a minute too soon as her meddling with the steam pipes resulted in an explosion that levelled a building and almost lead to loss of life. Her life!

No - Absolutely Not. There would never... ever... come a day when he would appreciate this interfering, insufferable woman's 'curiosity for crime'.

********************

“Why are you asking my opinion is you're not willing to listen to it?”

“Because usually that doesn't bother you!”

God, how wrong she had been about that. Obviously, it bothered him. It bothered him a great deal.

And how blind she had been to his reactions to the situations where she lived life on the edge, ran head first into danger, behaved... in his words... recklessly.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher had left Paris in 1919 with a new resolve and determination, that she would never hold back, never be anything but true to herself. To grab life by the reins and hold on as it took her on one adventure after another. Living life to the... his words again... the hilt.

To be fearless... because after years of living with fear - of monsters who lived under her bed, of the shadows in the slums of Collingwood which took her beloved sister, of her abusive father or that monster Rene - she swore... swore... she would never again be filled with such debilitating fear and helplessness as to take away her soul.

As a consequence, she did not tolerate having to defend her behaviour to anyone, it rubbed against the grain. True, she liked to believe her actions were mostly altruistic in nature; however, she was not perfect and sometimes her intended outcomes went awry.

Who did he think he was, telling her what she can and can not do?

Why, he had even arrested her once, to prevent her from going after her sister's murderer... alone – albeit to save Phryne from herself as it turned out. She had been out of her mind frantic and not thinking as clearly at that point, talking of sacrificing her life for Jane's when there was no reason to believe that Foyle would have honoured such a trade.

He grumbled about her chasing thieves across rooftops, hiding dangerous weapons under her skirts, carrying a dagger in her garter, brandishing her 'unregistered' golden pistol. He scowled when she confronted violent criminals or was shot at or bruised up. Like he has a say...

This made her pause.

Admittedly, he was a friend, a colleague, part of a close circle of people she had gathered around her. Mac often rolled her eyes at Phryne's escapades and even offered words of advise when appropriate and the lady detective took it with the sentiment in which it was intended. Worry. Care. Love. With Aunt P, it was propriety... and love. With Dot... it was propriety and care. She hardly gives it a second thought to these and continues on as she sees fit.

But Jack... why does she care so much about what he thinks... about his opinion. He should be no different.

And why... why... does it hurt so much that he's giving up on her... on them... He looked at her with those beautiful, sad... sad... eyes and told her it just scares him too much to see her life hang in the balance time after time and he can't do it any more. Well that's a little dramatic for Jack. He's usually so steady, so calm. What could be so catastrophic that he can not imagine their partnership and friendship continuing to work.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was an extremely intuitive woman, her mind usually working several layers and scenarios at the same time, but sometimes the obvious just eluded her. She chewed all this over as she sat, curled up on her chaise in the parlour, nursing her tumbler of whiskey. Brooding and trying to understand how this honourable man could find a reason so compelling as to sever the wonderful relationship they shared.

What could be so serious that he would be willing to walk away rather than live with who she is?

And then the penny dropped.

“Oh...”

********************

“She needed you, Jack Robinson. The man who always does the right thing... the noble thing.”

He stared longingly at her, his hurt and sadness spilling out all over his features like a flood; he would have been unable to stop them even if he had tried. And it spoke to the unvarnished truth in her face.

He swayed forward, _Not always, Miss Fisher,_ he thought and then realized he had actually breathed the words out loud by the way her eyes widened and she drew in a breath.

So close, his eyes grew a smokey grey as he took in the lingering notes of her lavender bath oils and aloe shampoo. He was barely aware of his surroundings, there was only the pink tinge to her cheeks and neck where her bath water had heated her skin. She had not a hint of mascara or rouge or lip wax on her bared and open expression and he had never seen her look so beautiful.

And there was nothing he wanted so much to be, in that moment, than not the man who does the right thing or noble thing.

********************

Phryne was more than a little put out as Greaves was escorted out of Jack's office and she cornered Compton in the station corridor outside of the interview room.

“I thought you said pursuing the Union was James Manning's idea?” She looked the evasive Group Captain straight in the eye, daring him to justify his need to lie to her.

“It was, originally. Then I ordered him to follow through with it.”

“Why did you not tell me?” This was the crux of the matter as far as Phryne was concerned.

“I couldn't be seen to condone what James was doing. He was spying.”

“And you were keeping up appearances. _**With me**_.”

“Well, I'm not in Madagascar any more. I have... responsibilities.”

“What a shame.”

Head held high, a look of pity and disappointment written all over her face, she turned sharply and walked away without another word or looking back. She had no intention of listening any further to another self serving man with an agenda that did not include being honest with her. She'd been there too many times.

Phryne was angry, with him and if she was honest, with herself. She didn't know what galled her more, the fact that she had been taken in by the dashing 'old friend' from her past or that her instinct to be more discerning had failed her. Her pique at Jack's accusation of dancing to the military's tune had obviously thrown her and could have played a part. Or perhaps she had let her guard down because lately she had become accustomed to a higher level of nobility.

********************

Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson tossed the completed case file, which he had just finished signing off on, into his out tray and reached for the next one that sat atop a pile at this left elbow. He flipped it open and started to peruse the first page, which involved the initial observations of the first constable on the scene of a mugging. The Inspector hadn't gotten very far past the first few lines of the report when he let the paper slip through his fingers, to fall back to his desktop. He bent his head forward, pinched the bridge of his nose and made a mental note to set up a meeting with the senior constables, so he could go over, once again, the importance of syntax – and the correct use there of by their juniors. _What on earth are they teaching at the academy these days?_

As he grumbled, the telephone on his desk rang; he sighed and grabbed the headset.

“Detective Inspector Robinson”

He listened for a moment.

“Hello Evy, yes... yes... it had been too long, it was wonderful to see you.”

As Jack listened further, he sat up straighter with what she had to say and became more animated.

“You are free at lunch time?... excellent, that would work for me as well.”

His caller made a few more inquiries.

“Yes..., it is... “, he answered, a little shyly, then wanting to move the conversation in another direction, looked at his watch, “I can meet you there in an hour.” He was very glad the woman on the other end of the line could not see the a slight blush creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears. His lips turned down at something amusing she added, then he said goodbye. When he had hung up the telephone, he rubbed his hands, pleased, and bent back down to return to the case file.

Constable Collins, who had been making notations in the day book at the desk right outside the Inspector's door, bit his lip and tried to ignore the telephone call he had just inadvertently overheard, the one he had taken and transferred to his superior... the one from a **younger** **woman,** by the sound of her voice... who was not Miss Fisher... and with whom the senior detective had apparently just made a date.

Several hours later, the aforementioned Miss Fisher was standing in her parlour with her companion Dot when the doorbell rang and she craned her head around to see Mr. Butler answer it. She was a little nonplussed at the moment after absorbing **that** little tidbit from Dot, about a telephone conversation Hugh had overheard at the station, concerning the Inspector.

Her never-ending source of mystery was continuing to surprise her. Another lady friend no less. Phryne really did not know what to think about this information. Although she had never properly waltzed with Jack Robinson, they had certainly done their share of dancing over the last year or so, and just when she thought they might have come to some sort of understanding, after the case with the beautiful Italian widow, she felt wrong footed... again.

The beautiful raven haired lady detective watched as her unofficial partner in mystery solving stepped into the foyer and handed his fedora to Mr. Butler. Jack turned to look at her and she took in the slight smile on his lips and the glint in his eye. She blinked and looked closer and he gave her that little head tilt that amused her so much.

The Inspector seemed a little... what was the word she was looking for... buoyed, light... and she began to wonder if it could have something to do with this other woman. Phryne felt a little... ah... well, quite frankly she couldn't put a word to what she was feeling right now. She certainly could not begrudge him entertaining an 'old friend', she would be a hypocrite if she did.

Conversation swirled around as people moved in and out of the parlour and eventually the two detectives stood there alone. She sipped her drink and he sipped his and they watched each other over the rims of their respective glasses for a moment. Phryne felt the happiness radiating from him and he looked like the cat that ate the canary, behind that tiny enigmatic smile of his. If he did not tell her what was going on soon, she was going to smack him – not literally of course... if she could help it.

He set his glass down and turned back to face her.

_Oh... here it comes..._

_“_ I found something for you when we raided Mary's health van,” he began as he felt inside his trench coat pocket. Well, this was not quite what she was expecting but Phryne rolled with it. She made a quip about receiving stolen goods but she watched his eyes. Now that he was at this moment, he looked a little wary, as if some self-doubt was creeping in. Maybe a little shyness and embarrassment as well, like this might be a bad idea and was not sure now how she would react.

Jack's face was a little flushed now as he produced a small piece of jewellery, clasped between his thumb and first knuckle, and held it out for her to see. When Phryne saw what it was, the wind was knocked out of her, and she couldn't recover fast enough so that what he saw in that second was a look so transparent as to overwhelm him as well. Speechless and incredibly moved, she fought to find her voice. There was more banter back and forth, that she could barely follow, fingers that brushed lightly against hers as he pinned the blue swallow broach to her scarf, and when she remarked that everyone would have to fight her for it, she conveyed all he needed to know about how heartfelt she regarded this gift and gesture.

They toasted to the children they had been and the adults they had become, while Phryne finally found her playful expression, as did Jack, and the palpable moment had passed (but not forgotten).

Unsurprisingly, he had called her on her little lie about the story of the broach; her father had indeed hocked her grandmother's gift it for a bottle beer. Damn, she swore inwardly, sometimes this man standing before her managed to see right into her very soul.

She quickly composed herself and prodded, “Where did you really find this Jack?”

Sheepishly, he shrugged and answered truthfully, “Well... I might have asked an acquaintance of mine, who works in a jewellery store, to do some sleuthing. She called me this morning, saying she had something that just might suit my needs.”

Phryne coyly lowered her eyes, swayed closer and smoothed his lapel, seemingly nonchalantly. “Ah, how very fortuitous. Do I have need to be jealous?” She tried to play it very casually, but winced when she realized her voice had risen.

His eyes danced and he smirked back, “Yes. Yes you do,” she looked up and saw he was teasing. “She claims I am her favourite cousin and she's very protective.”

Phryne huffed and in that moment realized that, while Jack might like to play a long game, he played it very well.

********************

“I have no intention of pursuing my greatest passion! ”

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson gripped the railing of the promenade deck, searching the shore for a familiar visage, then lowered his head and shook it slowly, almost guffawing aloud when he saw the person he sought, waving her arms, from a precarious perch atop a unused luggage cart parked along the wharf.

Ridiculous woman!

While most of the crowd was gathered at the waiting area near the foot of the gangway, looking anxiously for passengers to disembark, the force of nature that was the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher had managed to bribe, cajole, strong arm, charm some pour sod so that she could sneak into a restricted area, climb atop the cart and proceed to make a scene.

 _Why am I here again?_ He tried to reason with himself, then realized it an exercise in futility because the whole endeavour was lunacy and he should have his head examined.

And her little escapade did not bode well for whatever crazy adventures she had in mind for him in London, but he really couldn't find it in his heart to care, so he waved back. She raised up on tip toes, holding down her frivolous hat with one hand, and waved frantically when she finally spied him. His heart leapt as he imagined her falling off and breaking a leg or a neck and wouldn't that be a fine thing after he had almost convinced himself not to fret over her recklessness.

What rationale could possibly explain how a stoic, quiet, careful man could lose all reason and leave the safe confines of his home, to leap into the great unknown and pursue this woman half way around the world.

It was complicated, there were many reasons for this madness, but in the end it boiled down to this: he missed her and he loved her.

When the two friends, colleagues, partners, whatever they were, finally found their way to each other, he dropped his suitcase with a heavy thump and she gave him that cheeky smile and he was done. They embraced and then could not let go, taking in the wonderful feeling of being close and in each other's arms.

Her breathy voice whispered beside his ear, “I am so glad you came.”

He whispered roughly “I could not stay behind you, my desire.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's final words are from a speech, Shakespeare of course, from Twelfth Night, a favourite.
> 
> Act 3 Scene 3
> 
>  
> 
> **ANTONIO**
> 
>  
> 
> I could not stay behind you. My desire,  
> More sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth.  
> And not all love to see you, though so much  
> As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,  
> But jealousy what might befall your travel,  
> Being skilless in these parts, which to a stranger,  
> Unguided and unfriended, often prove  
> Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,  
> The rather by these arguments of fear,  
> Set forth in your pursuit.


End file.
